


He Whom the Master Serves

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Begging, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Shot, Creampie, Dom/sub Undertones, Facials, M/M, Mind Palace, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Top Hannibal Lecter, Vampire Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Nestled into the wall on one side of the room, surrounded by grates shaped like a cupped hand, a large and happy fire blazes brightly, casting orange and black patterns that give the impression of being within the bars of a cage.Hannibal smiles to himself, considering the metaphor. He knows he is not the first occupant of this room – and, perhaps, if fate and circumstance are not kind to him, he won't be the last either. But he will certainly inhabit this place the longest.Though the grate suggests otherwise, this is not a cage.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 47
Kudos: 400
Collections: NSFW Hannigram





	He Whom the Master Serves

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter said a thing about sub vampires and their human doms and, well, if that doesn't scream Hannigram....

Nestled into the wall on one side of the room, surrounded by grates shaped like a cupped hand, a large and happy fire blazes brightly, casting orange and black patterns that give the impression of being within the bars of a cage.

Hannibal smiles to himself, considering the metaphor. He knows he is not the first occupant of this room – and, perhaps, if fate and circumstance are not kind to him, he won't be the last either. But he will certainly inhabit this place the longest.

Though the grate suggests otherwise, this is not a cage.

He purses his lips, dragging his fingers idly down the arm of the high-backed, thickly padded leather chair in which he sits. The fire is for his benefit, and warms his skin, stinging his cheeks and the side of his face that is tilted towards it. He shifts his weight and the leather creaks beneath him.

There is a clock above the door, that tick-tick-ticks away. He stands, when the hour snips over to three in the morning. The magic hour.

The rest of the castle is cold, and the fire cannot follow him. Hannibal takes one of his cloaks from the large closet sitting like an open-mouthed animal in the corner of the room and drapes it over his shoulders, before he opens the heavy door, and steps out into the plain hallway beyond. Immediately, cold seeps in through his clothes, and his breath mists slightly.

He shall have to discuss better accommodations with the master of the castle. He could catch his death out here.

He strides with purpose, to the right. Memory and repetition give him no fault in his step, no hesitance as he winds his way through the maze of corridors and hallways that make up the higher ground of the castle. He knows, for weaker prey, this is meant to confuse and exhaust them while the monster hunts them to their deaths. But Hannibal is not a prey animal, he never has been.

As he winds his way down the castle, he can hear distant wailing of other less fortunate souls. Or, perhaps, to attribute their fate to fortune is giving them too little credit. One cannot help if one is born as a lamb, or a pig, or some other animal bred for slaughter.

He's slightly out of breath by the time he reaches the main hall. The great iron doors are open, and the inside is black as pitch. Hannibal cannot see a thing, even when he gives his eyes a moment to adjust, and the room is deathly silent.

No matter.

He walks into the room without fear. His shoes clip along the stone floor and he knows it is thirty paces until he reaches Will's chair. He reaches out when he gets to twenty-nine and feels for the armrest, smiling in triumph when his fingers wrap around the plain wooden handle. Despite Hannibal's suggestion, Will is a creature of comfort more than flair, and while he certainly has the wealth and status to justify having something more throne-like, he doesn't care to use it.

Hannibal turns and settles in the darkness, ready to wait.

He is not made to wait long.

The master's Children are many in number and follow him like loyal dogs. They come in first, bearing torches, and light the sconces along the walls and the large standing arrangements of candles on each side of the aisle leading to his chair. Hannibal can see, in their dull, unfocused eyes, that the master has them all in his Thrall. He smiles to himself – the master is a possessive creature, but also an incredibly protective one. He doesn't trust his Children around Hannibal, so he enslaves them to his will whenever Hannibal is nearby, in case one of them is hungry.

They light the room and leave one by one. Hannibal can smell the blood on their hands and see the dull, satisfied red in their irises, meaning that they were led on a hunt. His lips purse, ready to be displeased – he certainly hopes that the master didn't slip up, that he was good and obeyed the rules while he went out to feed his Children.

When there is nothing in the room but Hannibal and firelight, the master emerges and stands in the doorway. Hannibal smiles, pleased to see that there is no telltale smear of blood on his mouth, nor anything on his clothes that would suggest he partook in the hunt. He's carrying a large canvas bag. His face, and fingers, are pale. He must be starving, poor thing.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal greets. Beautiful eyes, glowing with hunger, rise up. Hannibal lifts his hand in welcome, in invitation.

_Come in_. Though this is Will's house, he does not approach without permission.

Will steps inside, and even though the distance is vast, Hannibal knows Will is looking right at him. He rests his arm upon the chair and props his cheek against his knuckles, waiting for Will to approach. The doors close behind Will with a loud, echoing boom that reverberates through the floor.

Will approaches him. Wordlessly, he comes to Hannibal's feet. Their eyes meet, and Hannibal, still, has no fear. He has never been afraid of Will. To be afraid of something like Will is to be afraid of a treasured pet.

Will wets his lips. His eyes are their normal glassy blue, a little hazy at the edges. The ring around his iris is the vibrant red of a hungry vampire. He clutches the bag tightly in front of him and goes still.

Hannibal's smile widens to show that, though he is human, his fangs are sharp as well. "What have you brought me today, darling?" he purrs.

Will shivers, as though Hannibal's words are a physical touch down his spine, making him arch like a needy cat. Slowly, he sinks to his knees, and opens the bag. From it, he pulls several items – first, a thick tome that makes Hannibal sit forward in curiosity. Will hands it to him and Hannibal opens it, smiling when he sees that it is a collection of essays and maps on the region, as he requested. The second item is a golden watch. A little small for his tastes, but very finely made, and beautiful.

Will takes another small box from the bag, and Hannibal watches as he opens it, revealing a new fountain pen. Another box holds a collection of small gems that Hannibal can arrange or request to be made into jewelry as he likes. He idly thinks about putting them into the hilt of his sword.

That is the final gift. When the bag is empty, Will sets it to one side. His eyes are dark, wide, plaintive when he meets Hannibal's again. He has no blood in him to blush, nor does he need air, but he's panting, his fingers clenching on his thighs as he fights the urge to touch, to take, to _bite_.

"These are lovely presents, darling," Hannibal whispers, because he believes in giving credit where it's due. Will's pale cheeks don't color. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and sighs with pleasure, lashes low over his brilliant eyes. Will is such a complex creature – powerful and strong, yet desperate, willing to serve, _needy_. Hannibal knows he finds an animal joy in bringing home gifts, of kneeling at Hannibal's feet while Hannibal examines them. Of earning his reward.

Hannibal thinks it wonderfully strange, that Will behaves this way for him. Will has the strength and the army of Children necessary to utterly decimate Hannibal, to destroy him down to grey matter, and yet -.

Yet, the first time Hannibal spoke to him, something shifted, as heavy and cosmic as colliding stars. Will asked permission to bite Hannibal, which Hannibal suspects is not something he does often. When Will bit him, the indelicate and sudden _ram_ of their thoughts into one shared space had left them both breathless. Will, on his knees, gasping and wide-eyed as though surprised to find himself there. Hannibal towering over him, a hand in his hair, demanding Will _beg_ him next time.

Hannibal sets the gifts to one side and Will's eyes follow the movement, a small crease forming between his brows. His eyes snap back when Hannibal gently grazes his fingers across the sharp, strong line of Will's jaw. When Will was turned, he was unshaven, and now has perma-scruff for all eternity. Hannibal quite likes it, though. It makes him look a little more wild than pure skin would.

"Did your Children enjoy the hunt?" Hannibal asks. Will tilts his head, attempting to nuzzle Hannibal's wrist, but Hannibal pulls back. "Ah, no," he says, 'tsk'ing like he would at a dog. Will flinches. If he doesn't like being treated like an animal, he certainly doesn't show it. His shoulders heave in unsteady breaths, pupils flaring out wide as he soaks himself in Hannibal's scent.

"…Yes," Will finally manages. "They did."

"Mm. And did you indulge, with them?" Hannibal presses.

Will looks up at him, brow furrowed, offended by the question. "Why would I?" he asks, confusion and disgust in his voice. He shakes his head and clenches his jaw. "Why do you always ask me that?"

"I like to be sure," Hannibal replies. He reaches again, and puts his thumb against Will's lips. When Will parts them, he drags his thumb down to reveal Will's teeth, his sharp fangs, the line of his gums. Bloodless, all. Good. "You are a creature with a savage nature, Will, prone to lapses in judgement spurred by instinct."

Will hisses, but does not bite.

Hannibal's smile widens. "Do you deny it?" he asks, sliding forward in his chair. The way Will is looking at him makes the wounds in his neck throb tenderly. Will has something in his saliva that dulls the pain of a bite and promotes healing, after the fact, but the muscle-deep scars are things that linger.

"I don't deny _it_ ," Will says. "I deny myself. For your sake."

"For my sake," Hannibal parrots. "For _yours_. My displeasure makes you tremble in ways nothing else can." Will doesn't argue, because it's true. It has been true since the moment they first met, when Will first tasted. Hannibal wonders if, perhaps, it is because he has the blood of a carnivore. If that old legend of inheriting the strength of the beasts you consume means that he is, simply, purely, too human for Will to overcome on his own.

He slides his thumb down Will's chin and cups his jaw. Will's breathing is heavy and slow; a bid for self-control that Hannibal has no intention of letting him keep. "Are you hungry, my love?" he purrs, though he knows from the hue of Will's eyes and the dryness of his lips that he is, he most certainly is. "Have you been good enough, that I should let you have a taste?"

Will looks up at him, searching, beseeching. His hands, cool to the touch, wrap around Hannibal's wrist, thumbs to his steady pulse. "Please," he whispers, leaning forward, leaning in. Hannibal obliges him and flattens his hand on Will's throat. He can't choke the air out of Will, but the pressure is insistent and promising nonetheless. " _Please_ , Hannibal. I'm so _hungry_."

"I know," Hannibal murmurs, his tone holding an edge of sympathy he does not truly feel. "And you did go through all the trouble of bringing me these lovely gifts…." Will's eyes are on his face, his hands so gentle. He is capable of breaking every inch of bone in Hannibal's body, of being so savage Hannibal would be little more than a smear of blood on the ground by the time Will finished with him, but he's a loyal animal, and has never harmed Hannibal aside from what is necessary to feed himself.

Hannibal sits back and Will crawls forward, sliding into place as Hannibal spreads his feet and knees. Hannibal smiles at him, idly petting the box holding the fountain pen as Will starts panting. He has no ability to blow warm breath over Hannibal's skin, but his unnecessary breathing is loud, and rough. His lips part, showing his sharp, deadly fangs, and Hannibal feels the first flicker of arousal start low in his gut.

"You should know the gifts I give you in return cannot be bought with presents," Hannibal reminds him. "I value acts of service more."

Will knows this. His eyes drop, to where Hannibal's cock is thickening beneath his clothes, stirring with interest at Will's proximity. Will leans in and mouths at the hard line of it, his tongue wet with the same venom he uses to seal Hannibal's wounds shut when he's done feeding. Hannibal tilts his head back, sliding a hand into Will's soft, thick hair. It's the perfect length to knot his fingers in and pull, though he does neither, yet.

"Please," Will whispers against the damp fabric. "Let me make you feel good."

Hannibal smiles. It is just as much for Will as for himself, he knows. Blood tastes better with the chemicals of arousal and pleasure burning in the aftertaste, according to Will. Second only to fear. Hannibal cannot give Will his fear, for he simply doesn't have any.

When Hannibal doesn't protest, Will pushes his hands up the outside of Hannibal's thighs, panting as he pulls the sides of Hannibal's cloak to pool between his hips and the chair, and tugs at the hem of his trousers, coaxing them down enough that Will can see, and taste, the leaking head of his cock. Hannibal shivers, clenching his jaw so he doesn't make a sound, watching Will ravenously as Will's eyes close and he bares Hannibal completely, inhaling with ragged, uneven breaths as Hannibal hardens fully for him.

Will flattens his tongue and licks up the shaft, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the head. He groans, nuzzling Hannibal as Hannibal's flesh darkens, flushing. The scent of his blood must be maddening to Will, but Will is obedient and good, and will not show his teeth until Hannibal lets him.

Will sucks the head into his mouth, cheeks hollowing. How pretty he would look, Hannibal thinks, with a flush of arousal. He's too hungry for that, but later, after Hannibal has fed him, he'll have this needy, powerful creature spread out in his bed, able to sweat, to go red, to come dry, over and over, as Hannibal uses him for his own.

"That's so good, Will," he murmurs, breath catching as Will's tongue licks along his foreskin, through the slit of his cock. Venom meets sensitive flesh and makes Hannibal's thighs tighten up, spread further, tense beneath Will's widespread hands. Hannibal cups his other hand around the nape of Will's neck, thumb along the single white scar that was left when Will was turned. His throat burns with jealousy, that some unnamed Sire far away got to put their mark on Will, and Hannibal cannot.

Perhaps he will, one day. He will bid Will slaughter dozens of his kind and fashion a necklace of teeth, so Hannibal can wind them in his fingers and bite Will hard. Or he will finally allow Will to give him the final, perfect Gift. Immortality, power, the strength and insatiable bloodlust of a vampire.

How beautiful he would look, his mate, the master of the house that goes to his knees so willingly for Hannibal, in a shared hunt. God above, he would be so beautiful. Feral and fine, hunting for Hannibal like the fiercest lioness. He pictures Will with the blood of a lamb in his teeth. Imagines his own aching with hunger, devouring the live kill and licking it from between Will's fangs.

His cock twitches, spilling the first of many drops of precum onto Will's wet tongue. Will whimpers at the taste, swallowing it down with feverish need.

" _Good_ boy," Hannibal growls, tipping his head up. Will's eyes lift, narrowing on the bared stretch of Hannibal's throat. He sucks more harshly in answer, whimpering when Hannibal pulls his head down so Will takes more of him, swallowing him into cool, wet, clenching muscle. He shivers, his jaw tensed, teeth grinding as Will sucks him hard, no gag reflex at all.

Will whimpers again, such a needy sound, pawing beneath Hannibal's thighs, using his supernatural strength to lift Hannibal from the chair so he can swallow deeper, fucking his throat open on Hannibal's cock. Hannibal growls, upper lip twitching to show his teeth the rival of any vampire's fangs. He grips Will's hair tightly, guiding him into a slow, languid rhythm that sends heat all the way down his spine.

Will takes him well, skilled after so many months of practice. He was not always this way, but Hannibal is a patient and vocal teacher, guiding his tongue and the clench of muscles, the drag of his lips, faster or slower or tight enough to satisfy. Hannibal can feel his orgasm chasing him down. He growls, grunting, and pulls Will off his cock, stroking himself quickly as the vampire pants and gazes up at him with glazed red eyes.

The first line lands on Will's lips, coating his tongue. Will shivers, closing his eyes as Hannibal paints his cheek, come clumping in his lashes, across his forehead, dripping over the bridge of his nose. Hannibal's knuckles are white in Will's hair, as he strokes himself with his other hand, eking out every last drop. He pulls Will's mouth back on him to finish, and Will swallows him with another soft, grateful moan.

He smiles, and nudges Will back onto his heels. Will isn't hard, he's too hungry for that. No matter.

Hannibal reaches for the box with the beautiful fountain pen. It's clean, and holds no ink inside it currently. He sits forward and puts the tip of the nib to his forefinger, and presses down _hard_ , twisting it just so, until it pierces his skin and a single bead of red blood blooms around the nib.

Will _whines_ , like the sound was punched out of him. He lunges for Hannibal and Hannibal lets Will take his hand, breathing hard. He leans down and licks the little amount of blood with a rough, desperate noise. The venom on his tongue meets Hannibal's bloodstream, sending pleasant tingles up his arm.

Will looks up at him, cheeks hollow as he sucks Hannibal's finger like he did Hannibal's cock. His eyes glow and the mark of Hannibal's seed on his face shines in the candlelight. Hannibal smiles, and pushes at the mess with his thumb, guiding it to Will's mouth so he can take that, too, until every inch of Will's face is coated with the scent of Hannibal.

Hannibal may be human, but he is not without his monstrous inclinations.

Will continues sucking, sloppy and wet on his finger, until Hannibal hooks it around the back of Will's fangs and yanks his head up. Will's eyes meet his, unfocused, hazy, so fierce with desire it momentarily takes Hannibal's breath away.

"Beautiful," he whispers. Will purrs weakly, lips twitching in a small, flustered smile. Hannibal slides his finger free, and sits back, gesturing to his lap. "Come here, darling."

Will obeys instantly, moving onto the chair just a little faster than a mortal man could. He puts his knees on the outside of Hannibal's hips, and clings to the back of the chair so hard the wood groans in protest under his strong grip, splintering under his nails.

Hannibal smiles up at him, and cups the back of his neck, pulling Will in for a kiss. Will moans into his mouth, sagging against him, grinding helplessly even though Hannibal just came, and Will can't get hard when he's so hungry. Pleasure is pleasure, and Will is a creature abhorrently touch-starved. Neglected. It's a good thing Hannibal came along when he did – another creature might drive Will to grievous harm in the pursuit of satisfying his master.

He has often considered ordering Will to hunt down his Sire for Hannibal. To bring the wretched thing that turned him and then abandoned him, leaving Will to his own devices, to kneel at Hannibal's feet for God-given judgement. He knows Will would. He knows Will has seen it in his thoughts. His cries are so beautiful when Hannibal shows him what he would have Will do, guiding his hands and teeth with nothing but his voice, commanding Will rip, tear, destroy the One that made him.

"You were so good, Will," Hannibal murmurs, nuzzling his beloved's neck, over his still and quiet pulse. Will makes a soft noise, kissing the arch of Hannibal's ear. So gentle, as though every inch of him is not prowling the borders of a feral mindset. "Come, get me hard again, and I'll give you what you want."

Will growls, and takes Hannibal's face in both hands, kissing him deeply. He shoves venom into Hannibal's mouth, careful not to bite without permission. Hannibal's chest seizes, suddenly, his heart jumping into a gallop at the frantic surge of pleasure that Will's venom, his touch, his shameless need always brings.

Will's hands drag down from his face, to his chest, his stomach. He kisses Hannibal again, licking into his mouth and sharing the taste of Hannibal's seed on his lips and tongue, rolling his hips against Hannibal's flaccid cock before he takes it in hand, stroking Hannibal quickly. It aches, so sensitive, but Hannibal has never been one to deny himself pleasure, especially when Will, always, eagerly gives it to him. He grabs Will's ass as he starts to harden again, and tips his head back, teasing Will with the bared expanse of his throat.

"Please," Will whispers, kissing his neck, over his rushing pulse. Hannibal growls in warning, pushes Will's clothes down to bare his hole. Will is tight and dry, and Hannibal spits on his fingers so that he can get Will wet. " _Please_ , Hannibal, just -. Just a taste, _please_."

"No," Hannibal snaps, making Will whine. He bares his teeth. "Turn around."

Will obeys, sluggishness showing how badly he's affected, and turns so that he's facing away from Hannibal and cannot bite him easily. Hannibal tugs him back onto his lap, pushing Will's legs out, spreading him wide and hooking his knees over the arms of the chair. Will braces himself beside them, head tilted back onto Hannibal's shoulder, panting and staring at him with wide, red eyes.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses him. "May I?" he taunts. As though he needs permission.

" _Yes_ ," Will says anyway. He bares his savage fangs, clenches his eyes tightly shut, and cries out to the ceiling as Hannibal forces himself inside Will, letting gravity and Will's eagerness give him the leverage he needs to sink inside his beautiful monster. Will trembles in his arms. He can't sweat, but if he could Hannibal knows he'd be soaked with it, flushed down to his chest, his heart racing.

Hannibal wraps an arm around his stomach, closing his eyes, chin hooked over Will's shoulder as Will starts to move, every inch of him rutting and desperate for Hannibal to finish, to earn his reward. "Slower," Hannibal commands, clenching his jaw when Will lets out a _filthy_ , weak little moan.

But he obeys, settling on Hannibal's lap, clenching tightly around his cock. He sits forward and puts his feet on the floor so he can still move, Hannibal holding him tightly and plastered to Will's back as he rocks himself back and forth on Hannibal's cock, soft, needy sounds torn from his dead lungs, nails digging into the arms of the chair so deeply there's sure to be marks left behind.

"You're doing so well, Will," Hannibal purrs, nuzzling his soft hair. "Taking care of me, making me feel good so you can earn your meal. I'm terribly cruel to you, aren't I, darling?"

"Yes," Will murmurs, because they promised not to lie to each other. Then, softer; "I like it."

"I know you do," Hannibal says, smiling. He has, after all, penetrated Will's mind just as deeply as Will has invaded his. The Thrall goes both ways for those who seek to use it. Those who are strong enough to hunt the hunter.

He cups Will's chin and forces him back again, shoulders braced against the chair. Will scrabbles for purchase, lifting his heels to the edge of the chair so he can keep riding Hannibal. Friction and proximity are making him warm, and Hannibal closes his eyes, shivering as he feels himself getting close again.

He slips two fingers into Will's open mouth, and snarls; "Bite."

Will does, fangs sinking into the first knuckles as he drinks. Immediately another shot of pleasure runs up Hannibal's arm and he tightens his grip on Will's chin, other arm pulling Will back as he plants his feet and starts to move with Will, making Will whimper and sink his teeth in again and again, creating a series of ring marks down Hannibal's fingers as he pushes them deeper.

Will is finally starting to fill, given just enough blood to start blushing and warming up like a normal human. Hannibal breathes in deeply, the scent of his own blood and the wildness in Will. He turns his head and pulls Will to the side, so that they can kiss, sharing the taste of Hannibal's blood and Will's venom, sweet as wine.

" _Hannibal_ ," Will groans, cupping his face, petting his own throat like he's in physical pain. "Please…."

"Please what, darling?" Hannibal replies, smiling.

Will wets his lips, eyes dropping to Hannibal's neck. "More."

_More_. Always insatiable, his darling creature. Hannibal kisses Will deeply, drinking down more of his venom, wrapping his bloody fingers around Will's cock. Will jerks in his arms, moaning raggedly into his mouth. He has the strength to rip Hannibal to shreds, to turn him and mount him, to demand and take, but he doesn't. He doesn't because he's good, he's _so_ good, he wants to please this wolf in sheep's clothing, lives and dies on Hannibal's regard.

Hannibal's upper lip twitches back, he bites Will's lower lip as hard as he can, unable to tear it, but Will feels pain like any other creature. He flinches, his cheeks colored with the barest hint of pink, and moans as Hannibal continues to stroke him, mouthing at his sensitive neck, over the scar from his Sire.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Hannibal whispers, stilling his own body and focusing only on holding Will tight and stroking him quick and harsh, Will's cock hard and warming in his hand from friction. He slides his other hand under Will's shirt, pinches his nipple, making Will gasp and whine for him again, staring upwards, eyes wide open. The scent of Hannibal on his skin drives him dangerously close to madness. He pinches again, harder, twisting slightly just to get Will to tighten around his sensitive cock.

Will holds his hand, clothing caught between the interlock of their knuckles. He clenches and moves as best he can, panting, growing so sweetly warm. When Hannibal kisses his neck again, he feels Will's heart beating like a frantic bird, uneven and slow, but strong. "My beautiful boy. I'd like you to come for me, Will, can you do that?"

Will nods, closing his eyes. He bites his lower lip, his own fangs slicing in, dribbling venom. Hannibal nudges him until Will turns his head and he can kiss it away. He focuses on the head of Will's cock, where he's most sensitive, tightening his grip as Will tenses up.

Will cries out loudly, cock twitching, spilling nothing, of course. One thing Hannibal is determined to relish while he's still mortal – the thought of filling Will with warm come, of marking him with his seed so all his Children can smell it, pleases him greatly.

" _Please_ , Hannibal," Will moans, writhing in his lap, breathing hard. "Please, please, _please_."

Hannibal finishes with a rough noise, biting down on Will's neck as hard as he can. He doesn't break skin, but Will shivers in answer, holding onto him as tightly as he dares. Hannibal pushes Will's hips down so he spills deep, coating Will's insides, a primal urge he has never felt as powerfully as when they first met, and every moment in Will's company, since.

Will gasps, and lifts his head. He presses his lips together, reaching between his legs to pet over his rim, where Hannibal is stretching him wide. His lashes flutter and he lets out a pleased sigh, smiling wide enough to show the dimples in his cheeks. "So warm," he breathes. He sounds drunk. "You're so _warm_."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will's pulse. He slides both hands to Will's stomach, empty and hollow, and lifts Will off his cock. Will shivers and Hannibal's nostrils flare at the thick drip of come that follows him out.

He sets Will on his lap again and turns Will so he can kiss him. Will moans into it, eyes hazy and glowing with pleasure. Hannibal has often wondered if Will is a particular breed of vampire, that is just as satisfied by sex as with blood. But the haze of red is still bright in Will's lovely eyes; he's still hungry.

Will kisses him again, and again, turning so his shoulder tucks under Hannibal's arm, legs pushed together and hanging off the edge of the chair as he sits mostly sideways. He rests his cheek on Hannibal's collarbone and nuzzles his throat with another plaintive noise.

"Was I good?" he whispers.

"Wonderful, darling," Hannibal replies. There would be no better time to feed Will than now, loose from his orgasm and so utterly pleased by Will's performance. He cups the back of Will's skull, threads his fingers through hair slightly damp with sweat, thick and almost warm as a human. "Ask permission."

"Please, Hannibal," Will moans to his throat. "Please. Can I bite you? It'll feel _so_ good, I promise. I'll make you feel so good."

In that regard, Will is always right.

Hannibal closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the chair. "Drink, darling. As much as you need."

Will parts his lips, edges his fangs along Hannibal's neck until he finds the jugular, and bites down. His teeth easily split Hannibal's tanned skin and Hannibal moans, tightening his arms around Will's shoulders as Will seals his lips and sucks, blood leaking sluggishly into his mouth.

Immediately, the familiar weight of Will's mind resting against his own greets Hannibal. Will's mind is like a mountain, beautiful and tall. He razes himself to the ground for Hannibal's sake. He becomes a valley, deep and wide, begging for rainwater and rivers. Hannibal eagerly wades into it, taking Will's pleasure and thoughts by the fistful, coating himself in it like he might dive into a summer-warm lake.

Will turns in Hannibal's arms, straddling his lap again. Hannibal's hands run down his back, gathering at the base of his spine as Will ruts against him, hard and wanting. He cups the back of Hannibal's neck with both hands, holding him steady as Hannibal's neck goes limp. He drinks, and drinks, ravenous, as the water swells and threatens to take Hannibal under.

Will comes to him like a monster in the lake. He takes Hannibal in his arms, pets him and soothes him, the venom on his tongue touching the puncture wounds from his fangs and making Hannibal moan, and gasp, taking in water. He's drowning, and drowning feels _so good_ when Will is the one pulling him down.

Will grinds against him until he shudders with a second orgasm, twitching against Hannibal's limp cock. He pulls his fangs back and licks over Hannibal's neck, sealing the wounds shut. Hannibal sucks in a breath, blinking slowly, and Will pulls him upright and rests their foreheads together.

"Thank you," he breathes. The red in his eyes has faded, now only the glacial blue of his human iris stares back, framed by damp hair and blushing cheeks, lips swollen and bitten red now that they have the means to do so.

Will kisses him, not for the sake of igniting the fire in Hannibal's gut again, but because he wants to. Because he adores Hannibal, Hannibal can feel it in every touch, every soft breath, every time Will meets his eyes.

Will pets Hannibal's hair back, fingers gentle and warm. He kisses, and kisses, stealing Hannibal's breath away every time. So touch-starved, so utterly neglected, so happy to be held and fed. Hannibal breathes in, content with his scent thoroughly coating Will, and pulls Will's clothes back into place, and then tucks himself back in.

Will smiles at him, nuzzles him, lashes low over his beautiful eyes. He slides off Hannibal's lap and gathers his presents, pulling them back into the bag to easily carry to Hannibal's room. He offers his hand, and Hannibal takes it, stumbling to his feet and using Will for balance as the room spins, the halo of candlelight without edges.

"You were hungry today," he notes mildly.

Will tucks his nose to Hannibal's neck – a placative gesture, like those of animals, not to ask for more. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "You just…tasted so good."

Hannibal smiles, cups his face and kisses him again. "I'm always happy to feed you, my darling. When you've earned it." Will's eyes shine with adoration, and the echo of his mind pulses with pleasure against the border of Hannibal's own. The Thrall, inevitable during a bloodletting, will take some time to fade when it's shared between creatures as powerfully connected as they are.

Hannibal doesn't mind. His body, weak and unsteady though he feels, hungers for Will. Perhaps he is already some kind of vampire, but one of flesh, and sweet, needy cries, and sweat and seed. He lets out a low noise, cradling Will close to him as Will purrs happily, holding Hannibal upright with an arm around his waist.

"May I take you back to bed?" Will asks, meeting Hannibal's eyes.

"Of course," Hannibal purrs. "I know you're still hungry, and I'm not done with you yet."

Will's eyes flash with eagerness. He smiles, and arches a brow. "Can you walk?"

"You don't need to carry me," Hannibal says with another indulgent smile. Will's flush is beautiful on his face, his lower lip, when he bites it, begs to be kissed. So Hannibal does. He takes Will's free hand, feeling stronger with Will's venom on his tongue, their shared scents in his lungs. The room has stopped spinning, and Hannibal burns even without the heat of the fire on his face.

He tugs on Will, pulling him down the aisle and to the large doors. Will follows like a loyal animal, and together they go back to Hannibal's private room. Will sets the bag down when they enter, knowing Hannibal will have a particular placement for each thing. The firelight makes him shine, makes him look like a caged monster with the shadows of the grate thrown high against the wall.

He may be a monster. He may be wild, and dangerous. Hannibal may be human. But he is the one who holds the keys and the leash to this beautiful creature's cell, and Will's freedom, his power, is something he covets and guards viciously.

He is not the one caged; Will is. Permission freely given. Hannibal didn't even have to ask.


End file.
